


One Afternoon at the British Museum

by Ladderofyears



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: British Museum, Childhood Friends, F/M, Female Friendship, Fertility treatments (mention of), Friendship, Hopefully Still Quite Sweet, Memories, POV Ginny Weasley, Regret, Scorpius Malfoy & Albus Severus Potter Friendship, Single Meeting, little bit sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 18:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20214295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladderofyears/pseuds/Ladderofyears
Summary: Tomorrow is the funeral of Astoria Malfoy. Ginny Weasley fondly remembers a single afternoon many years before but feels regret at the choice she has made.A small story about female friendship, changing your mind and the joy of finding a new, and unexpected, friend.





	One Afternoon at the British Museum

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the Mods at the wonderful Astoria Fest. The artwork and fics that has been written are all absolutely lovely, and well worth having a good look at.

We met in 2010, Astoria and I. It was a small quirk of fate, our single meeting. We never met again and now, well now we'll never get the chance to.

And if that’s my only regret for a lifetime then I suppose I'll have got off lightly. I’ll have been fortunate. Been the lucky person I've always believed myself to be. 

But in another world, another reality, another lifetime, Astoria would have been my friend. 

~@~

The day I met Astoria was grey and overcast. Mum had taken Lily for the day to save my sanity. Lils was such a fractious toddler at two, still struggling to get used to my return to coaching and what that meant to our family dynamics. James was playing over at Teddy’s house and Harry was busy as per usual: deeply entrenched in breaking up an illegal potions ring. 

So, for the first time in longer than I could recall, I was alone with Albus. 

It felt great, actually, for the pair of us to do something together. It was just the two of us, hanging out. Now, Albie wasn’t ever the easiest six-year old in the world. Even back then he was so different in disposition to Jamie’s sunny optimism but that on that particular morning, I remember that was happy. His wide eyes were shining with surprise and wonder at the exhibits on show. 

I remember his amazed giggles and that broad grin that made him look every inch the son of Harry Potter. Quite honestly, there were some days when he was little where I couldn’t see any Weasley in him whatsoever; I think that day at the British Museum was one of those. 

Our mission for the day was to visit the wing of the BM that’s dedicated to wizarding history. There’s a secret doorway just past the Ancient Abyssinia exhibit that’s enchanted to recognise magical folk. Albus and I both passed thought though it without any issues at all. Truthfully, I’d been a little concerned bringing Al here without Harry, but Al had promised (‘_cross my heart and hope to fly, stick a broomstick in my eye_’) to be good as Goblin gold. 

I shouldn’t have worried really; Albie was behaving more calmly than he’d ever managed before. “Mummy, look. Mummy, please! It’s moving!” Albus had shouted, laughing hard as he grabbed a fist full of the edge of my cloak. In front of him a life-size Norwegian Ridgeback model growled ferociously, charmed to look realistic. 

“Your Uncle Charlie wrangles Ridgebacks that are _twice_ this size of this tiny baby,” I teased, ruffling Al’s chaotic black hair with my fingers. “And unlike this one, they actually breathe fire in your direction.”

“_Cool!_,” Albus gasped, immediately impressed. “When Daddy gets home, I’m gonna make him tell me the dragon story again. How him and Uncle Ron and Aunty Hermione took the baby dragon up the tower...” 

I watched Albus run to the next model- a scary Hippogriff that opened a set of broad-brimmed wings on demand- whooping with innocent gleefulness. Albus opened his arms widely in response, baring his teeth at the magical creature. He was clearly having a brilliant time. I hung back, just letting him explore. 

My reverie was broken by a small voice behind me. “Hello! Erm… Excuse me! Can you help me, please?”

I turned, and saw a little boy stood behind me, dressed from head to toe-in-black. It was a surprise to see a child in such a wizarding formal robes outside of Diagon Alley. 

For half a second my brain seemed to play a trick on me, telling me that my childhood bully had arrived back in my life, come to remind me once more of the poorness of my family, my worthless clothes and my intrinsic, muggle-loving lack of value. I swallowed abruptly, my throat dry. But this child wasn’t Draco Malfoy. There was none of his spitefulness, none of his malice cutting through this child’s features. The white-blond hair and the pointed features were the same, but this boy, I realised, wasn’t here to hurt me. 

“I think I've lost my Mum,” said not-Draco, shifting on the spot and looking in every direction bar my face. “I was so interested in the development of cauldrons through history that I wandered in the wrong direction… And my Dad says I’m _never_ to talk to strangers, but then I thought _you're a mum too_. So you’ll know what to do! And I’m very sorry to have disturbed you but I wasn’t sure what else to do...”

Not-Draco seemed to run out of steam. Despite my every effort to feel otherwise I felt a stab of compassion for this rambly, anxious child that had materialised before me. The edges of his eyes were tinted pink, and I could tell that he was trying his hardest not to cry. He looked to be about the same age as Albus, but seemed more childlike somehow. I could see him squeezing his finger and thumb together, an unconsciously message of anxiety. 

“Don’t you worry,” I said confidently, looking around for his parent. “I’m sure she’s not gone far. My youngest boy is here and I’m sure he’d love to keep you company for a minute till we find your Mum. Do you have a name?”

“I’m Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy,” he said with a watery smile. “I’m six. My Mum said that today’s trip could be a reward ‘cause I read all of _Fantastic Beasts_. We don’t ever leave our Manor much.”

So non-Draco had an equally old-fashioned wizarding name. This polite, sweet little boy was the grandson of that vicious old bastard Lucius Malfoy. It hardly seemed possible that they were the same family but that’s life in wizarding England. You go back a generation or two and everyone has their secrets. “And where, exactly did you last see your Mum, Scorpius? Can you think?” I asked.

“By the _Hopping Pot_. It leaps about like the story. I kept making it dance… When I turned around she was gone.”

“Well, we’re going to go back and see if she’s there.” 

I raised my voice and called Albus over. He’d been watching the pair of us speaking, his interest piqued by this little boy that was just exactly his age. Albus knew so few children outside of our family. Other wizarding families always struggled to relax in Harry’s company and, with so many cousins, there never seemed to be the time to make new friends. 

“Come on Albie,” I said, “We’re going to look at the cauldrons.” Albus gave the Hippogriff a final growl but he ran over obediently. His excitement at the blond-haired boy was palpable. “We’re going to help this little man find his Mum.”

“Hello,” he said to Scorpius. “I’m Albus Severus. I’m named after two teachers but I don’t think that’s a job I’d ever want to do… _I’m_ going to look after dragons like my Uncle Charlie. Who are you?”

“Scorpius Hyperion,” he replied, looking at Albus with wide, shy eyes. “I’m only named after my grandad though. And a star, which my Daddy showed me with a telescope.”

Albus seemed to accept the other boy’s statement with the open-hearted approval that only the very young can manage. As we walked over to the History of Magic exhibit the pair of them chatted like they’d been friends their whole lives. 

“I like your robes,” Albus declared. “My Daddy says that I’m not allowed to wear my robes except on special occasions. He says that muggle clothes are more practical.”

Scorpius had to think about that comment. “I didn’t know that there were other things to wear,” he finally admitted. “Would you like to see my Firebolt?” Scorpius asked, and without waiting for an answer, rummaged around in his robe pockets. He produced a tiny model broomstick that floated above his palm. Albus watched the dancing toy in awed silence and I shook my head, fully aware that I’d have to chase down the same model come Christmastime. 

At that very moment, the three of us were interrupted by a distinct cry of ‘Scorpius!’ 

I tore my eyes away from the bobbing broomstick to see a tall, and very beautiful lady hurry towards us. She looked to be a very good match for Scorpius, her robes well tailored and elegant in a way that I've simply never been able to manage. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and I watched as she pulled Scorpius into a binding hug. “_Merlin!_” she exclaimed. “I only turned away for a second and you’d disappeared! I’ve been so worried… Are you alright, baby?”

Whomever this lady was, her pure love for Scorpius was visceral and so very real. 

My prejudices, so closely held to my heart seemed simply to evaporate. I’d been utterly prepared for a cold, pure-blooded aristocrat, someone whose face would flicker with innate distaste before she extracted her precious heir from my inadequate Weasley clutches. I’d imagined her side-apparating Scorpius far, far away before my Albus could even say goodbye. 

“Oh _Mum_,” laughed Scorpius, confident and smiling now that he was back beside her, “I was fine. This nice lady and her son looked after me. This is Albus and one day he’s going to be my best-friend. I already know it! He likes dragons and broomsticks, just the same as me!”

The lady turned to look at me for the first time. I couldn’t place her despite her being a similar age to myself. The wizarding world is small, after all: we all go to the same school. Her hair was thick, ebony-black and her eyes were hazel, soft and kind. “Please accept my sincere thanks. I’m honoured to meet the mother of my son’s new best-friend. That isn’t an accolade I think he’s ever given out before.” She smiled, and offered her hand. “I’m Astoria Malfoy.”

I wasn’t sure how to react. No Malfoy before Scorpius and his mother had ever treated me with more than veiled contempt and condescension. Indeed, her father-in-law had tried to kill me when I was a spare few years older than Scorpius himself. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to run away, to turn away from this Astoria. Despite what the public seem to think I’m _not_ the same person as Harry and I never have been; I don’t have his effortlessly forgiving nature or naive kindness. 

But I didn’t, of course. Instead, I drew on all the tactful diplomacy I’d honed during my years playing professional Quidditch and shook Astoria’s hand in return. “I’m Ginny. Ginny Potter. And this here is Albus Severus.”

Albus looked up at Astoria though his untameable fringe, already bored by the mummy-talk. 

“Can I go and look at the _Hairy Heart_?” he asked, pointing to the next exhibit, “from the bedtime story? It beats and everything-”

“Of course,” I replied, “but no disappearing. There’s been enough of that for one lifetime.” Albie’s face broke into a shining smile, and before either myself or Astoria could react he’d seized hold of Scorpius’ hand. The little blond boy seemed to hesitate for a second, his eyes flicking to Astoria’s but then he was bounding quickly after Albus. 

They skittered across the room together; already confirmed best-friends. Scorpius wasn't what I'd have expected. _A follower_, I thought, _not a leader_. That surprised me, and I wondered momentarily whether Draco worried for this soft-hearted, kind little child. I imagined the name Malfoy might weight heavily on Scorpius as he grew older. 

Astoria watched the two of them beside me, her face beatific. “That’s adorable,” she said. “Scorpius doesn’t really know any children his own age… A few cousins but they’re all so much older. Your son is being very kind. How old is he?”

“Six,” I said, watching the two small figures double up in thrilled laughter as they made the Hairy Heart beat faster and faster in the display cabinet. “And I could say the same about Scorpius. Al can come across as a bit reserved… I’m afraid he’s got a reputation for being the family crosspatch. I’ve got an older boy too, Jamie, but he’s playing Quidditch and my baby is spending the day with my Mum.”

Astoria nodded. “Three babies… I’d have liked more children. A brother or sister for Scorpius. Sadly, it wasn’t to be. Scorpius is six as well; they’ll be in the same year at school. Sometimes I wish I could halt time. Keep him young forever.” 

I understood. The spectre of my children leaving me for school, aged only eleven, filled me with dread too. I remembered watching my own mother weeping for each of my brothers as they left, still so unformed and innocent, hardly ready to face the world by themselves. 

“And it’ll be worse for Scorpius,” Astoria bit her lip, and I wondered what worries flittered though her head. “The name _Malfoy_. It’s still so reviled. He’ll have to be a stronger child than I think he’s ready to be. But that’s being a Mum I suppose. You always worry.”

“You do,” I agreed. Astoria had brought up the subject of her family, when I hadn’t dared to. She was obviously a braver person than I. “I don’t mean to pry, but-”

“-But you’re wondering how I came to be mixed up with such a _dreaded_ family of wizards! No, It’s okay, I don’t mind… I suppose I’ve asked myself that a good few times too. You’ve been far kinder than most, Mrs. Potter, let me assure you.”

I felt myself blush furiously. That was precisely the question I’d been far too embarrassed to ask. “You’re married to Draco?”

Astoria shrugged, her eyes fixed on Scorpius. “Guilty as charged. As if there was any doubt when you look at Scorpius. He’s so much like Draco that you’d think that Lucius had enchanted him into existence; the perfect Malfoy.”

I didn’t reply, letting the information settle into what I already knew about the pair of them. Astoria and Draco’s elopement and marriage had made headlines when it had happened. Astoria had broken an engagement to Ernie McMillan to flee England with Draco Malfoy. It had been the single biggest controversy the wizarding world had seen since War, eclipsed only by the birth of their child several years later. The baby’s name had never once been revealed but ugly rumours had followed the child ever since the day he was born. 

The _Prophet_ had even written headlines alleging that the Malfoy heir was really the scion of Voldemort, conceived at the will of Lucius using a Time-Turner. I’m ashamed to say I’d believed the gossip in its entirety, wondering aloud to Harry about what kind of anomaly their baby would turn out to be. As I looked at Scorpius, his small cheeks flushed pink with the giggles, I felt ashamed of myself. 

“It’s all nonsense,” Astoria said mildly, seeming to read my mind. “All those _Prophet_ headlines. Scorpius is no more Voldemort than little Albus there. Draco and I always wanted children but I needed to travel abroad for treatment. Sadly, there were some medical issues and I was destined to be blessed with only one baby.” Astoria's face shuttered, lost in her memories. “Scorpius might look like the consummate Malfoy, but I promise you, he’s quite the sweetheart inside.”

“You must love him a lot,” I replied, “to have gone through all of that.” I couldn’t imagine fertility treatments, or travelling abroad to have a baby. I’m a Weasley and childbearing is our unique talent. 

“Oh, I do,” Astoria replied, her face brightening as she considered her son. “Oh, I’m making it sound far worse than it was. Our family is truly happy: I’m lucky to these years with Draco and Scorpius.”

I wondered briefly what Astoria meant with her words. Her tone was so final, perhaps even melancholy. “Don’t worry,” I said, trying for a cheerful voice. “Life goes on after Hogwarts. They’ll have holidays, graduations, babies, weddings. Plenty of future to enjoy, I promise.” 

We watched our children silently. Albus pointed something out on a display, and Scorpius looked on with interest, his white eyebrows furrowed in concentration. 

“You’re absolutely correct,” Astoria concurred. “So do you live in London?” she asked, delicately changing the subject. 

“Dorset,” I said. “Harry and I used to live up here while I was playing, but we gave up city-living after Lily, my youngest was born. It’s hard to keep up with a lot of my old teammates though. Harry is busy working much of the time so there needs to be at least one parent around.”

Astoria smiled, acknowledging my point. “I’m lucky in that respect. Draco works from home as an alchemist. Sometimes I wonder whether we see far too much of each other, but really I wouldn’t want it any other way. It must be hard though, for you and Harry? Having to spend so much time apart? I read about his Auror team in the newspaper. He’s very brave but you must miss him.”

I took a deep breath, thinking of how long it’d been since I'd spent more than a few hours in Harry’s company. Always so busy and so dedicated, but family was never at the top of his priorities. Not when everyone else needed saving. Never once in my life did I think that I’d be envious of having Draco Malfoy for a husband, but after meeting Astoria, I decided that wonders wouldn’t ever cease. 

“I do. It’s difficult sometimes. You do what you can.”

Before we could say more, Astoria and I were interrupted by a smiling Albus and Scorpius popping up beside us. “Mummy!” Albus said, “look what Scorpius taught me!”

Albus held out his hand, and his new best-friend placed the toy Firebolt in his hand. As we watched the little broom levitated, wobbly and slow, and began turning in lazy circles. “I’m doing this all by myself,” Albus whispered, very pleased with himself. I was too; Albus struggled terribly to discipline his natural magic. This was some of the finest control I’d ever seen him achieve. 

He looked over at Scorpius, breaking the spell, and abruptly changed the subject. “Can we go and see the Egyptian mummies now?” 

“If you want, baby.” It was hard to credit that this enthusiastic little wizard was my lovely, grumpy Albus. I turned to Astoria and Scorpius. “Would you like to come with us? If you haven’t got anywhere you need to be?” I was enjoying Astoria’s company, and realised that I didn’t want our conversation to end. It was a rare thing for me to ever find another soul I felt I could be open with.

“That would be super. What you you think, Scorpius?”

“Please, Mummy! I’d _love_ to see the mummies. Especially the sarcophagus of Pharaoh Amenhotep the Third. He was one of the most all-powerful wizards….” The rest of his speech was lost as he and Albus hurried away, keen to return to their adventures. I wondered idly at Scorpius, about what Draco must think of this bookish, scholarly little person. 

We ended up going around the rest of the museum together. After an hour or so the two boys were visibly flagging, and after an exhibit about the life of Newt Scamander I knew it was time to think about going home. Andromeda would be flooing Jamie back soon, and Harry would be coming home… 

Part of me wished the afternoon never had to end. 

“We should be getting back too,” Astoria agreed when I mentioned the time. “Draco fusses terribly when I’m even a few minutes late. He worries so much.” We exchanged our goodbyes at the floo exit. Astoria and Scorpius disappeared into the green flames with a final smile and a last wave. 

“Did you have a great time?” I asked Albus as we _Engorgio’d_ our coats and shrugged then on. “You and Scorpius seemed to get on well.”

“The very _best_ time. Scorpius is my best friend,” he replied, entirely certain of his choice after only half an afternoon. “He isn’t like anyone else I’ve ever met. And one day we won’t have to leave each other at the end of the afternoon. We'll be together every day.” 

I smiled, kissing my beautiful boy on his golden, freckly cheek. He looked so sweet that day, the remnants of baby fat making his skin soft; his wide eyes the same celadon green as his father. The same pure kindness in his heart too. I took his hand in mine and together we stepped into the museum fireplace. 

It was time to go home. 

~@~

I never did see Astoria again. The days go so slowly, but the years bound past you faster than the tide. 

There were so many days where I thought about sending her my owl but there was always another Quidditch match, another Weasley get-together or trip to Diagon Alley to negotiate. When the last of the Death Eaters were released from Azkaban, the _Prophet_ decided to up the ante in their abuse of the Malfoy family. I know I should have done more- I was a columnist by then- but somehow I never dared. I didn’t want to rock the broomstick. Didn’t want to make a fuss. 

Tomorrow is Astoria's funeral. _Come to the funeral_, Scorpius asked Albus. _And be my good friend_. 

Albus is better than me. Stronger that me. He’ll hold his best-friend’s hand like he did when he was six, and be the good friend that he truly is. 

We only met once, Astoria and I. A small quirk of fate, never to be repeated. 

Yet I remember it like it was yesterday. In another world, another reality, another lifetime, Astoria should have been my friend.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading xxxx


End file.
